What if he dies?
by Tal Leonard
Summary: Sherlock is the one always on the verge of death. He never considered what if he wasn't the brother dying?
1. Chapter 1

"He is the British Government." Such a simple statement when it falls upon the ears of the normal but to me how much it reveals. My dear brother how much you reveal just being the one to say it. You think me useless because I do not run about as you and your friend are apt to do on most evenings. You have been angry with me for years going so far as to declare me your archenemy to both myself and anyone that would dare to suggest any notion of good standing between us. I know why you're angry though you think I haven't noticed. I can see you as clearly as I see any other. Yes I know you think I abandoned you by playing pretend with the rest of the world. You think I'm wasting time with shadow politics-with any politics because to you it is a trade any level of people may hold. I wish you would have let me teach you so that you could understand as I do. There is more to deductions than stains and tells which is a reason you often miss important clues.

You should know that I wrote multiple letters each for a specific reason. This one is in case I'm in a coma and you're left to "pull the plug." Right now you're reading this and though you won't say a word to anyone I know it bothers you to see me like that. You were always the one to nearly die but now it's your turn to sit in the chair and watch. You'll have to do it Sherlock and it's going to be bad. I don't imagine you've actually considered what my death will be like or perhaps you have but certainly not a situation like this. I've arranged everything with Anthea she'll take over my position and be there with whatever aid you might need in the future. The Holmes Estate will be yours, you'll have full access to your accounts (please try to watch how you spend it. That means nothing illegal and, yes, that includes chemicals you aren't supposed to have I don't care if you _need_ them), and try not to give Greg too much trouble he does a lot for you.

There is no one like us Sherlock. I told you that when you were little and you never wanted to be anything else. So when you thought I was choosing to be like them you felt betrayed and I apologize for that. I know no matter what you say you do feel but I want you know that I'm not like them Locke. It was always a show with them. If you believe nothing else you've read believe the next sentence. I built my government to protect the only thing that mattered, you little brother.


	2. Chapter 2

He knew John was standing by the door waiting for him to talk but he didn't want to say anything. He sat still clutching the letter as he read it through again not acknowledging his friend's presence.

"Sherlock . . . Mrs. Hudson made soup."

"Not hungry."

"Do you want to talk?"

"You're not really going to play shrink, are you?"

"I've been often enough myself."

"He's not dead."

"He's going to be."

"Not soon."

"Sherlock."

"Not now."

John relented and left the youngest Holmes to his thoughts. Thoughts that centered around his older brother. The most dangerous man he knows-his archenemy and he's lying in a hospital bed, deep in a coma, with every system in his body dying off and shutting down. He closed his eyes willing the images to be deleted but the images just come through clearer.

He arose from his seat and brought himself to sit upon his bed with hands folded before him. "It is calm, serious, practical in its action and terrifying in its thoughts. One look, one moment to take inventory and it will know you to your core. And when it speaks, for speak it will, it will at once entrance you as the words spew forth from the lips. This is intellect. This is the your greatest strength." Sherlock closed his eyes and pointed his fingers like a gun to his mouth as his mind fired off every combination of the words' meanings. It was there somewhere in the words but he couldn't find it. This wasn't right.

Mycroft isn't capable of dying which means this has to be something else. This is an attack by an enemy. Possibly an enemy named in the letter. Multiple letters made. There is multiple people he thought might make an attempt against him. He prepared multiple letters each with the name of a different person. No. How could Anthea have known which one to give him? Maybe he knew which methods they might try. So a method linked to their profession.

Wait Anthea. Mycroft didn't need Sherlock to pull the plug when Anthea could have done it. She would do it without question and she was already handling everything else so why was it left to Sherlock? The name! To put it in the letter Mycroft would use a code or a cipher and if he arranged this so Sherlock would get the letter than only he would be able to figure it out.

He breathe in drawing more air that would increase his heart rate, increasing the speed of blood flow, and ultimately increasing his brain processing. An almost endless possible number of codes and ciphers in existence. 30 codes and 47 ciphers created by Mycroft. 13 that his brother taught him plus 6 that Sherlock later cracked. Forget the ones he cracked Mycroft wouldn't know of them. So it's 13 possible codes and ciphers. It had to be one of them. One of them had to work. His mind filters through every one possible but nothing fits. Cipher VI manages a few words but then it fails as well.

He brings the letter itself before him once more thinking perhaps he's missed something again. Missed something. "There is more to deductions than stains and tells." What could that mean? "Understand as I do." Something his brother has knowledge of he doesn't. Politics? No he'd know Sherlock wouldn't bother with that. A subject Mycroft knows better than Sherlock that would help him to see what Sherlock misses and be useful in creating a message within a seemingly normal letter. There had to be another clue. Somewhere in here but where?

Words. Words. Words. Too many flying in front of him. Too much and with no results. This is Mycroft, his brother. If they were so much alike why was this so hard. OH! Sherlock jumps up from his seat and with the letter in hand and runs out the door as he pulls on his coat.


	3. Chapter 3

"So are you going to tell me what's going on?" John asked.

They were sitting in a cab on their way to . . . somewhere and John had no idea what to think. On one hand he was glad his friend seemed to have been pulled from his previous state of that morning. On the other hand he had no idea what had caused such a quick change or for that matter if it was a good thing for Sherlock to be so focused on. Whatever it was. All he knew was that Sherlock was happy, plus a little impatient due to a long cab ride, and wearing that same expression he got every time he was handed a new case. Was that it? A case? John realized with a mild annoyance that Sherlock had yet to answer while he had been thinking to himself.

"Sherlock." The prompt brought no response. Not even a shift? Any movement? "Sherlock are you going to answer me?"

No response.

Now was a time John really wished he had his cane. Nothing serious he was a doctor after all. No, just a jab to shin or maybe the knee-just to startle him. Pain in the knee would linger longer. It had certainly taken long enough to lose the pain in his own knee after he fell off that roof awning in their last case. He'd had an actual limp for all of two weeks. Sherlock got off worse; his injuries included a concussion, a broken arm, and a fractured rib. Hmm. It hadn't been three weeks since that case.

"OWW!"

A cane he had not but a stab to unhealed injuries was a good substitute and not in breaking with his Hippocratic Oath. "Where are we going then?"

Sherlock shot him a glare with a hand on the injured area. "Holmes Estate."

Holmes Estate. Not Mycroft's house? "What for?"

The detective eyed him suspiciously no doubt trying to decide his reaction before he spoke. "I don't think Mycroft's coma is from natural causes."

Not good. "Sherlock the doctors ran tests. The coma was caused by a cerebral edema from an electrolyte imbalance."

"I'm aware of that John. I'm saying it was helped along."

"Then what are you thinking?"

"I just told you."

"Sherlock don't you think his staff would've made sure this wasn't some kind of attack?"

"No doubt Anthea herself ordered an investigation."

"Then what are we doing?"

"There is something not right about this John."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course of I'm sure. What are you getting at?"

Starting to get a temper. Not working then. John would have to be careful if he didn't want to find his work shirts tangled in with the latest corpse intestines. He slowly tried to mimic the even tone of his therapist that drove him mad at times but for some reason worked. "Sherlock, are you sure you aren't just doing this because you're upset?"

"Why would I be upset?"

John sighed. Typical of the 'World's Only Consulting Detective' to deflect his emotions with a question he heavily laced with false annoyance. "Your brother is lying in a coma being kept alive by machines."

Sherlock's jawline tensed.

"You close that jaw any tighter and you're going to need a root canal."

A grin. "Hours waiting in a chair with nothing to do but text you and Lestrade."

"What makes you think you'll be conscious?"

Sherlock looked over at his friend and both men burst out laughing.

"We're here." The cab driver called from the front seat.

John's own jaw dropped open at the sight of the large sprawling house and grounds. Now he knew why Sherlock had called it an estate. It was larger than all the houses on Baker Street combined and that's not including the land it sat on. "This is Mycroft's home?"

"The family Estate."

"What?"

"Problem?"

"You're family's rich?"

"Yes." The detective was gauging John's reaction. "Is that a problem?"

"No just . . . explains some things."

"Things." Sherlock repeated.

"Your ego."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and handed cash to the driver before stepping out.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock barely contained a laugh at John's reaction to the inside of Holmes Estate. Right now he seemed more like a six year old on his first trip to the city.

"Coming John? Or should I handle this on my own?"

"Huh?"

"We came here to find evidence or at least I did."

That brought him to. "Right. Yeah, evidence about . . ."

"What caused the electrolyte imbalance."

He could practically see the wheels turning in that square head. Studying other people was fun, sometimes, but being studied by someone, especially someone, who knew him so well was not fun. He suppressed the urge to pull his phone out just so he could grip something but too late. John had seen the slight movement. But would he understand it? Probably not. Sherlock hoped he was that obvious.

"Just so we're clear, you do understand this isn't just some case, right?" John asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the victim is your older brother."

Turning away the detective was in control heading off for the study where they'd found the unconscious body. He heard the heavy sigh behind him accompanied no doubt by the shake of a head. No, wait. No footsteps following? Please don't let him start playing the caring doctor again. It was aggravating enough to deal with when he fractured his rib on the last case. Which thanks to acertain doctor was now sore again.

Should he stop or just slow down. He slowed his pace enough to be noticed but not so much John would think he'd hit a mark. There's the footsteps. Only more like dragging than steps.

"Wonderful." He muttered under breath. He was going to have keep dealing with these 'talks.' He was definitely going to solve this case now. If only to make sure his _dear brother _was equally as miserable for the experience as he was made to be.

Luckily for him John seemed to be cooling off the more they walked as he allowed himself to be distracted by the many items and architectural feature that filled the house. Sherlock was tempted to start taking detours just to make the trek longer but thought better when he realized it might encourage another talk. Better to get to the study and to work. John usually left him to his thinking during work.

Opening the door to the study Sherlock found it was his turn to be amazed. This was not the same study he remembered. The furniture was sparse and plain, the crown molding that bordered the ceiling was taken down, and even the desk was lacking the usual ornate details that went into most of the rest of the house.

"Well this room is . . . normal looking." John ventured.

"It wasn't this way the last time I saw it."

"Why would Mycroft change it?"

"I'm not sure."

"What are we looking for exactly?"

Sherlock refocused his mind on the case shaking away the unease he was feeling at this sight. Why on earth was he feeling like this? Not the time, save it for later. "We need evidence to explain a motive for this."

John stared up at a world map tacked to the wall. Tacked? That's odd. "A motive to take down the most powerful man I've ever met. Which country should we start with?"

"Country. Agency. Incompetent government officials. Idiot employees. Doesn't really matter they all hate him."

"So a list wouldn't help?"

"Probably not." Sherlock thumbing through files left on the desk. So that's what that Korean election was about. Interesting knowledge for later but not so useful right now.

He set the files down and moved on to searching drawers. "Here's something."

"Are those prescriptions?"

"For high blood pressure medication. Cardura?"

"It's an alpha-blocker but these prescriptions haven't been filled. How long has he had high blood pressure?"

"I didn't know he did."

"I guess we shouldn't be surprised."

"Why?"

"He has you."

"True. Did you find anything?"

"There isn't much in here. I mean his office was smaller than this but this doesn't look like it belongs to Mycroft."

"No it doesn't, does it?"

"Sherlock?"

He chose not to answer annoying his friend once again. This time however John made no attempt to pull him from his thoughts but walked back through the halls to look around other rooms.

All the rest of the house had seemed to be the same as it had always been. Maybe a few small changes but nothing like this. What had happened here then? As far as Sherlock remembered Mycroft had always had the same style as their Mother when it came to home design. His childhood bedroom had been full of furniture with intricate detailing. A smile crept onto his face remembering the long hours it took Mycroft to replace every item after young Sherlock had thrown it all into the middle of the room. He shook away the memory thinking this might very well be the case that finally drives him mad. Donovan was going to be thrilled.

Refocus. This room didn't look like Mycroft's. If anything it was like Sherlock's room (most of his mess was kept in the kitchen and living room). Less for his eyes to take in so his mind could keep on track with whatever problem he was working on. Which made the items that were there all the more important.

The desk was just paperwork and some writings utensils. His laptop must be elsewhere.

A quick movement and he brought out his new phone (the last case saw the demise of his previous one. Water damage can be fixed. Broken screens can be fixed. However as Lestrade had told him after handing him the remains, "The phone has enemies too. In this case blood and massive electrical currents") and sent off a short message. {Need his laptop. SH}

From across the hall he heard the sound of a boot colliding with an _iron_ ottoman and a cry of pain from the army doctor with the now stubbed toe. He really should have got the steel toed boots.

Sherlock moved onto the window seat which it seems had been moved away from its place in the nook below the window. Fresh scratch marks on the floor from it being dragged out of place. No signs of older marks to show it had been done before. However indentations in the center of the carpet show where it had rested. He usually lifted it to preserve the floors. Not surprising given the price of these tiles. Why pull it this time? Not too far from the desk. Fell after getting up and tried to pull on the seat to stand. Would have grabbed the side and pushed up . . . and left a stain?

The detective crouched down beside the seat to examine it. Chewed and chomped white pills surrounded by a brownish stain. He drank his pills with coffee.

Something doesn't fit here. Anthea said he was found on the floor unconscious. He fell to the floor but nothing should have come up before the black out. Why the mess? A second examination with the pocket magnifying glass and he finds that the pieces of pills were clustered together but appeared to have been pressed in as they were pulled down.

"Found the laptop." John announced upon returning. "Did you really have to text me?"

Sherlock noted with amusement that he was dragging his left foot instead of raising it. "John, glad you're here, I found evidence."

John peered over his shoulder placing the laptop on the desk as he passed it. "A stain?"

"With parts of some white pill smeared on it."

"Smeared?"

"Yes, smeared, as I said. Clearly there was something wrong with this pill. Possibly switched or tampered with."

"Wouldn't Mycroft have noticed?"

"Apparently not without a taste." Came the reply as the bits of pill were scraped into a tack container Sherlock had emptied into the desk drawer.

"I don't think he's going to appreciate that."

"Not my problem."

"Are we finished?"

"No. I still have to look through the bookshelf. Go look in the bathroom cabinet for any other medicines he might take."


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as he was sure John had left Sherlock sent another text. {Make a list of everything and put it in a bag to take with us. SH}

{Sally was right. You're mad. JW}

He stopped in his tracks as he set about cracking his brother's password and glared at the words on his screen.

{Sally? SH}

Hearing a laugh travel from down from upstairs Sherlock grimaced continued typing in answers. He went through the obvious ones. All the God fearing, Queen and country loyalists answers he could think of but no match. A message appeared at the bottom that was supposed to be a hint. However what it read was, '_Right. Five guesses. Dear me, little brother, are you trying?_'

He halted his fingers set all on home row and thought for a moment. He hovered over the first letter before keying in another response which the computer accepted. As block letters flew onto the desktop spelling out a greeting to the owner (A computer greeting him and he calls his brother childish) Sherlock winced. It had to be his name. Not just his name but his first and middle name. Sherlock Émile (Em-EEL) after their alleged ancestor Émile Jean-Horace Vernet. Mycroft always liked the way it sounded together-especially when he was yelling it in anger.

The screen changed to the desktop with a background of Baker Street at Christmas that showed Sherlock in the window playing his violin. Typical Mycroft. He imagines his brother extracting the snapshot he wanted from the video feed. Immediately after the desktop opened three tabs appeared at the bottom of the screen indicating open files. Files named 'Observe Everything', 'Be Patient, and 'Think Holmes'

"Unbelievable."

Sherlock opened up each document and skimmed through its content. The first was the list and files of the seven he suspected might kill him. A Democratic party leader, two U.N. officials, a N.A.T.O. representative, a former CIA Director, and three mob bosses. Definitely dangerous individuals to upset; part of him wondered what his brother had done to make it on their death lists. After all Mycroft was usually the type to keep to the shadows. If it wasn't his brother Sherlock might have admitted that the level of preparation impressed him . . . well he wouldn't do it out loud anyway.

The second document was Mycroft's medical records. He thought at first there must be a mistake being that there was a hundred and thirty-six pages but scrolling to the bottom he found it was indeed a hundred and thirty-six pages of medical history. Bullet wounds, stabbings, head injuries, internal bleeding, and multiple surgeries to remedy an ailment in his back. He had thought seeing him in a coma was difficult. Seeing the records on the screen before him and knowing they were real-that all of it was real seemed almost unreal. He hadn't known about any of this. He hadn't known about the high blood pressure, he hadn't known about surgeries or how many close calls Mycroft really had in his _boring _job. Infinitely worse was the pattern that began to emerge at the back of his mind. Too many connections to be coincidence yet too impossible for him to believe. How could he not know? How could not see this?

He picked up the laptop and went to show John but he wasn't in the bathroom where the laugh had come from earlier. He wasn't in the second or third bathroom either.

{Where are you?} SH

Ten seconds. No reply.

He tried shouting. "John."

His phone went off. {Downstairs. Room by the kitchen.} JW

The room was the informal sitting room that looked out into the garden and forest behind the house. John was standing next to the shelves built into the right wall apparently fascinated by the items upon it. He didn't even notice anyone had come into the room. What could be so interesting?

Sherlock came around the other couch set in the center of the room to look over his shoulder. "Find anything?"

The former army-doctor would have died of embarrassment if anyone else had seen the startled jump and near crash into a very old, very expensive lamp with the Holmes Crest in stained glass. He looked up sheepishly to find Sherlock with a look of amusement at his screw up.

"Not a word." he instructed regaining his voice.

"Wouldn't bother." Sherlock answered voice monotone but with a clear smile. "Did you find anything?"

John pointed to the pictures on the shelf. Examining them closer Sherlock found they were all of him. Arranged increasingly by age and from just about everywhere he'd ever been. The younger ones were all family and school photos while most of everything after high school was security snapshots (each of those pictures had a location and time stamp) and more recently newspaper clippings. John had some of those clippings but he got them out of a newspaper and these were printed off onto a high gloss cardstock.

"And I thought Jim was a fan. When did he increase my surveillance status?" he wondered aloud.

"How do you know he did?"

"This one," Sherlock pointed to a photo taken from their last case. "A level three surveillance wouldn't give access to private home security."

"So . . . anything on the laptop?" John asked.

"Yes. He was very well prepared for this." Sherlock opened up the laptop again and clicked the second document open. "This document came up along with two others as soon as the desktop opened."

"Are those his medical records?"

"One hundred and thirty-six pages."

"One hundred and thirty-six." John repeated. "Your files are only forty-four pages."

"I know."

"I thought he was a politician?"

"A politician and something else."

"What?"

"No idea. But look at the files after 2005."

John leaned over the laptop skimming through the files at the end as he took in the dates and injury. Five gun shots, a head wound, eight broken bones, bruising around the ribs from a _blunt object, _minor burn marks, and over twenty cuts and stab wounds.

"How is he alive?" John pulled a chair over to the side table and sat down. Disbelief? Natural this was Mycroft and while Sherlock insisted he is the most dangerous man there is no one would entertain the notion of him being involved in life threatening work. That was left to the younger Holmes.

"Obviously he needs better security. He fights them alone enough to stop them but not good enough to avoid injury or in this case serious injury. But that doesn't matter now. Do you see the pattern?"

"No."

"Come one John. Think. The dates and injuries themselves."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sherlock grabbed the laptop from John's reach and scrolled to a report from March 2011.

"One foot cut, five meters deep on the left and one and half meters deep on the right, running from just under the left ribcage going diagonally up to stop two centimeters from above the naval."

"There was a large cut. Why is that important?"

"Because it wasn't just a cut. It was a cut from a scimitar."

"How could you tell that?"

"It was shallower on the right but deeper on the left. If the fighter attacked with the curved blade from left it would have gone in farther where it hit first but just broke the skin where it touched last. If they'd used a normal blade it would have been straight and the entire cut would have been five meters deep."

"A scimitar. Wasn't that what that American gang used? The ones that were after the Jaria Diamond?"

"The Chaldean Mafia. It was the weapon of choice for all their members up until it was broken up in August, five months after I crossed paths with them."

"You're saying that was Mycroft's doing?"

"Take a second look at those medical records-and read it out this time."

John eyed Sherlock skeptically but didn't argue. He read out a date and description for Sherlock to identify.

"February 17, 2011. Three and half meter gash on the forehead and a gun shot wound from a Smith & Wesson .44 double action revolver."

"Jaymeir Hayden."

"The brother of that rich guy who offed his pregnant girlfriend. Why would he fight Mycroft?"

"Matter of family honor, John. They weren't just a rich family they were an old family rich in military honors. Honor which the conviction of his brother took away."

"March 1, 2011. Left leg fractured plus a half circle burn on his right hand and the back of his neck."

"Zanatos."

"The half circle trademark?"

"Exactly. Next one."

"April 8, 2011. Triangular cut in his right arm and strangulation marks around the throat."

"Black Lotus. Their leader Lónɡshǒu fights with a hand knife topped with a copper arrowhead. It's his trademark weapon and a family heirloom."

Honestly if Sherlock wasn't piecing it together John might never have seen it. He couldn't believe it was true but there couldn't be another explanation. "Mycroft got rid of anyone that might take revenge on you."

"Why are you so happy?"

After examining the photos again John looked back at the younger Holmes grinning laughingly about something. His grin widened even more before he answered. "I knew you two cared about each other."

"Photos from a surveillance video does not mean he cares about me and I certainly don't care about him."

"Honestly Sherlock. The world's not going to end if you care."

"John how I treat my family is none of your business and if I say I don't care about my brother then I don't."

"Then why do you call him your brother?"

Sherlock let out a low growl.

"Oh, Come on. He has a wall of pictures of you. He comes around every time you call. Not to mention he has been taking out your would be enemies that you didn't even know about and would have killed you."

He had to go back to that damn therapist. It was all Harry's fault. He'd been going back with her to 'deal with their issues.' If Sherlock wasn't careful he would find himself being dragged to weekly therapy sessions with Mycroft to sort out their, as John termed it, sibling rivalry.

"Right. Let's just leave before you're completely useless."


	6. Chapter 6

And with that unpleasant conversation Sherlock decided to end their visit to Holmes Estate. They borrowed one of Mycroft's cars (He kept two in the garage for when he didn't have time to wait for a cab.) which John insisted on driving. Because driving a tank once in training camp apparently qualifies him as a better driver than someone who'd actually learned to drive. Ok Mycroft tried to teach him and they nearly crashed twice but Sherlock had more time on an actual road and he knew the city better than John did. Of course to the doctor's simpler mind none of that counted. All his mind could focus on is "for god's sake don't let the man who nearly died for the thrill of a chance game behind the wheel of a car."

They made a quick stop over to Bart's so Molly could take the broken pill pieces Sherlock found and find out what was wrong with them. John's driving was surprisingly over cautious and to the passenger annoying. The hours of riding with no sound but the music and the car engine was boring. Yes most would be glad to have such a safe and easy journey. Perhaps they'd even take in the scenery around them as they listened to the radio and have a nice conversation with the driver. But when you have a Holmes mind and there's work to get done which you can't get to until you get home because the stupid computer isn't charged enough to use it while you're being driven . . . you become tempted to cause a near accident just for the excitement. There was about nine instances throughout the drive that Sherlock might have used for such a purpose. An intersection, a blind corner, a sudden red light that was right before the large puddle of water running through the side street. Luckily for Dr. Watson even as all of this passed through his passenger's mind he dismissed it and simply kept tapping on the laptop instead.

What's worse than a long drive? A long drive with a passenger that acts like a hyperactive toddler. John kept the car as slow as he could and avoid all high traffic areas. Getting into a wreck because your sociopath friend got bored of the ride and made you crash is not something a normal person has to worry about. That joy only comes from driving with Sherlock Holmes. He should be going faster but the flashes of images from what might be going through that Holmes mind kept his foot from turning to lead. Glancing sideways every now and then he just knew that it was getting to worse and worse ideas in that head. John kept it slow although he desperately wanted his experience driving with Sherlock to be over as fast as possible. Then the tapping started. He bit his lip. It's was a good sign. He's just trying to avoid doing something incredibly dangerous for the fun of it and that . . . (Tap, tap. Tap.) That is a good thing. Just let him keep (Tap, tap. Tap.) tapping. It might have been the continuation over an extended length of time or the fact that it was Sherlock who couldn't do anything normally after twenty minutes of tapping it began to actually sound like something. Like a heartbeat. Well, an irregular heartbeat. Two beats and then one beat. Never normal.

By the time they made it home Sherlock was fidgeting to the point he was considering just jumping out of the car and running home so that he could move. When they arrived at Baker Street he threw the door open and ran through the front door and up the stairs with the laptop before John could come to a full stop. The doctor in John had a panic attack when the passenger jumped out of the still moving car and he immediately slammed on the breaks. The car jolted forward the same time that Sherlock pushed open the door to 221B. He looked back for a second to register what had happened before moving on to their flat upstairs. John put the car in park and turned it off. Heart racing really fast. Have to wait for the breathing to slow down. Damn Sherlock. God, it's no wonder Mycroft said he's always worrying about him-and he taught Sherlock to drive! He shuddered at the thought. His heart returned to normal. Maybe that tapping was Sherlock's idea of a joke and hint of his plan. (Was he going to end up with high blood pressure from prolonged exposure to his flatmate? Of course it could also be caused by the sheer amount of takeout they consumed. He'll have to work on that later.) he went up to the flat closing the door that Sherlock had flung open as he bounded up the stairs. The sound of blaring loud guitars and electronic piano tones greeted him upon entering the flat. A good indication that Sherlock was in his room most likely reading through everything else on the laptop. His choice of music, indie rock, wasn't the normal however John didn't think it was that important at the moment. He figured it would take a few hours for the detective to go over all the information to his satisfaction so John headed up stairs to his room. Might as well rest a while before he gets dragged off somewhere to chase whoever the mad man decides is the culprit who will in fact be ready for them somehow and set a trap they'll walk right into at the end of their chase leaving them caught in a trap for hours as whoever it is questions them and rattles on about his plans and with Mycroft in the hospital (and let's face it Lestrade doesn't and won't know about any of this) there'll be no unwanted rescue or rescuer for Sherlock to shout at before giving out a reluctant thank you that will not really be a thank you but the best you can get rescuing Sherlock. God, sleep sounds amazing right now. Better hurry before he finds something sparking the chain of events.

During the slightly lowered tone of a piano solo he heard footsteps walking upstairs. John's off to bed then. He felt slightly guilty for rushing out of the car, no doubt scaring the good doctor to death-metaphorically, and the long drive during which he was sure he'd narrowly missed the punch to face. He'd have to apologize somehow. Was letting him sleep enough? He could attempt making tea again. But John had never trusted him with tea after the incident with the possible hallucinogenic sugar. Actually as it stood he was not trusted to prepare any food or drink people might ingest. A few drops of blood and some chocolate crickets had settled that. To be fair crickets were in fact an accepted edible food in some countries. Something to worry about later.

His attention needed to be on the documents that he'd found. The significance of the first was obviously a list of names and the second was most likely to inform him of his medical conditions. Not only did he have high blood pressure and chronic migraines he was also born with a whole in both knees and an irregular heartbeat (that Sherlock had known about since he was since he could remember). These were made worse by the fact that he had high tolerance to medicines used to treat his conditions. Except the irregular heartbeat because that was just a fact that was not going to change. Then there was the third document which unlike the others was baffling.

It was Mycroft's thesis paper. He remembered his brother trying to show it to him but Sherlock naturally didn't pay attention. After all it was politics and what good was that to him? Mycroft had devised a way to identify what people would support based upon their physical appearance. Useful for finding allies during a campaign not so useful for discovering a murderer.

His gaze went to the stairs leading up. Thinking out loud might help. Then again John had hardly gone up not too long before and was most likely to be just falling asleep if he wasn't already. On the other hand he did need to solve this one quickly. If he didn't pull the plug by Friday Anthea would do it for him. Three days. He had three days to find out who tried killed his brother or he wouldn't have a brother. That was settled. He was on his feet and headed up the stairs to John's door.

Upon hearing the knocking a grumbling came from the other side of the door. Knowing it would be unlocked Sherlock took that as his permission to enter. There was more grumbling muffled this time by the blanket pulled over his John's head.

"John wake up. I need to talk to you."

John bolted upright. "Sherlock, did you seriously just ask to talk?"

"About the case."

"Are you sure? Because you might need to. I mean with everything going on it's not like anyone would blame you if you-"

"John!"

John wasn't happy about it but he sat back. Why did everyone want him to talk? Why couldn't they just accept that Mycroft was his archenemy? Ok, very bad when you think about it. "About the case." Sherlock repeated. "The first document was suspects and the second was medical but the third I don't understand."

"What is it?"

"Mycroft's senior thesis."

"Ok so, what does that have to do with the case?"

Sherlock threw himself against a wall and slumped down to the floor. "That's what I'm saying. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't fit yet it has to."

John sighed and got out of bed. Goodbye sleep for who knows how long. He sat himself down on the floor across from his friend waiting for the inevitable stream of thoughts to come pouring out. Nothing coming out. A question? "Did Molly find out anything about the pills?"

The response; a flat, "No." A pause. Gathering the thoughts. Ready. "The pills will tell us how it was done. We need to find out who did it. Whoever it was had to know about the high blood pressure."

"Which you didn't even know about."

"The point is that the person who did this had access to that information."

"Only the patient themselves or family-or Mycroft's assistant can see his medical records."

"It would appear that someone else can too."

"Who could do that?"

"Someone with a high security clearance or friends with clearance. That narrows it down to the Democratic Party leader Rome Nix, the U.K. U.N. Ambassador Matthew Henry, and the former C.I.A. Director Louis Philip."

"Why the C.I.A. director? I thought Mycroft works with them?"

"He does but I said former. Director Philip _retired _after his agents decided to take a visit to our flat."

"You mean Mycroft had him fired."

"He doesn't take well to disobedience from his minions."

"Probably because he deals with so much disobedience from you."

"It's fun."

"Pushing the most dangerous man I've ever met to anger. Yeah that definitely is your kind of fun."

"I still don't see how any of this connects to Mycroft's Thesis."

John realized that Sherlock had no idea what to do and it was scaring him. Relax and keep calm or he'll lose it completely. He's having trouble figuring out the problem and he needs help. More than that he's being a child . . . like John was in primary. What was it his teacher always said to the aides? 'When the child struggles for the answer you must lead them to it.' "Walk me through the thesis."

"It's politics."

"That's not an explanation that's a poor summary. Thought you'd know the difference." A death glare. Okay. Rebuff is not helpful when the child has the IQ of 20 graduates put together. "How exactly did it work Sherlock? In simple terms."

A smile. He always likes being reminded that he's smarter than everyone else. He pulled out a paper from his pocket. When did he print out the thesis? John noticed the yellowing and creases. He glanced at the clock to hide his grin. Sherlock printed that years ago, probably from Mycroft's old laptop when he first wrote it. "According to the paper you can identify a person's sympathies and essentially who they'll vote for by studying their physical traits."

"Does that really work?"

"Mycroft developed it." Matter of fact and no room for doubt. John used to talk like that when he still thought Power Rangers were real. No heroes, huh? He'd probably take on anyone who'd challenge the theory. He knew he was smiling openly now but Sherlock went on ignoring it to avoid more unwanted talks. "He used it to build his business."

"What exactly is his business?"

"Government."

Holmes. They just had to be dramatic and mysterious. Can't even say what his brother actually does for a living. Just 'government.' Wonder if he even knows for sure. "Alright, well, maybe it's pointing us toward the party leader."

"It couldn't be that obvious."

"Why not?"

"It's Mycroft."

"Because that makes complete sense."

John's still exhausted and cranky. Might help to tone it down a bit. Could give him some background on the point. Could he afford the risk? It was either risk that or risk dealing with John in a bad mood. "Look, John, when we kids Mycroft used to make up these games. They were sort of like training exercises for us to practice our observation and thinking skills. He put this together knowing it would be one of the seven that would try to kill him and he didn't even trust Anthea to tell her. He set this up for me to figure out. It's not simple. It's not obvious. Not when Mycroft designed it."

"Do you have any other ideas?"

"I know whatever the key to this is it's to do with something Mycroft knows better than me. I thought Politics but that can't be it. I know this thesis has to be pointing me to what it is but I can't see it."

"What's Mycroft better at?"

"John if I knew that-"

"I know Sherlock just give me a list even if it's not the right answer."

Skeptical but he's not arguing. "I never really bothered with politics but again that's obvious. He studied a lot of economics and history. I only paid attention to history of crime and the science that went with it."

"Describe him."

"What?"

"Describe your brother." Sherlock gave him a look that read a clear 'you're an idiot.' Nothing John wasn't used to seeing or hearing when he was particularly stupid. "How are you different? He deals with politicians. I'm guessing he was more popular in school."

"At school, with our parents, and at every social function we went to. The minute I opened my mouth I got in trouble and got grounded. Mycroft could talk his way out of anything. He could tell someone off and still be their best friend. They called him their best friend anyway; Mycroft doesn't actually call people his friends. They're associates, contacts, or business partners. Most of the people who work for him graduated his year or from the same university."

"How much is most of them?"

"Everyone who works in his office graduated from the University of Reading."

"Anthea too?"

"She's been his assistant since his junior year of college."

"That's a long time."

Sherlock laid his head back against the wall looking up at the ceiling. He was silent but he seemed more relaxed now. It was so odd seeing him this way. Almost Human. He should call Lestrade later. He'd love to hear about this. Maybe this was that good man catching up to the great man Lestrade told him about on their first case.


	7. Chapter 7

The silence was broken by a text alert. Was that a lightsaber? Since when did Sherlock like Sci-fi? He didn't even know what Star Trek was until the last one came out and he only watched five minutes of Lord of the Rings. Guess I'm not taking him to the opening of The Hobbit. The detective opened the text but as he looked at the screen his moment of peace went with it. He showed it to John.

{The pills were normal. One was a calcium supplement 2 gram dose and the other was an alpha-blocker for high blood pressure 8mg dose.} Molly

"Why would he take calcium supplements?"

"For his high blood pressure. Calcium supplements help lower it when taken with the regular medication. But this is 2 grams each and with the two pills normally taken each day that's more than twice the regular daily dose."

"Would that have caused the electrolyte imbalance?"

"Sure. Only I don't see how Mycroft wouldn't have noticed this? There would have been symptoms and the Cardura dose isn't right either."

"How?"

"The prescription we found was for 4mg and this is twice that dose."

"You said there would have been symptoms."

"I did. Hold on." John went to small bookshelf under the window where he kept his medical textbooks. He pulled out a large paperback book and quickly went through the contents for what he needed. "Here it is. The symptoms would have been any combination of aching joints, dry mouth, fatigue, vomiting, and trembling. His heart rate would have increased before he slipped into a coma."

"He had a rapid heart rate when they brought him into the E.R."

"At least now we know the how."

"We also have another clue as to who."

"How's that?"

"Because not only would they have to have access to Mycroft's medical files they had to know the exact doses and would have needed a way to get them switched without Mycroft noticing. That isn't easy to do."

"You mentioned social functions. Does he ever have any at the estate? I mean he's a people person, more than you are anyway."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. He didn't think of that. That should have been obvious. An easy way to get into the house and make the switch. No, no, no wait. People person. "John you're amazing. Simple. Normal. Slightly aggravating but you are amazing."

About to say thank you of course he might have left out the aggravating part. "Why am I amazing? What did I do?"

"People. People is what he's knows better than me."

"You mean that deduction thing you do?"

"It's not a deduction thing it's observation and analysis and no that's not what I'm talking about. Mycroft knows people. He only has to speak with them for a minute and he can know them better than their family or friends they've known their whole life."

"Yeah . . ."

"John don't you get it?"

"Sorry, no."

While John does try to be more perceptive his intelligence is unfortunately no higher than most of the average idiots the detective puts up with. Sherlock lets out a frustrated sigh and calms himself before responding in a 'skull talk tone' as John calls it. "The analyzing method he created for his thesis discovering a person's sympathies by their physical traits. I can use it to identify a suspect."

"But it doesn't show the whole method. It just gives examples which don't really sound too-" Note to self don't question big brother in front of little brother. Harry didn't even get that kind of defensive nature the short time they did get along. Great, now the Holmes brothers have a better relationship than him and Harry.

"John pay attention."

"I am."

"You're thinking."

"You think all the time. I don't complain."

"Right. I was saying," And I'm ignoring him. He shuts himself away for hours at a time without a word but if he's not getting attention he has a tantrum. That would be amusing to see. "Simply put all I have to do is crack Mycroft's secondary code to bypass his primary code for his project files where they'll be a copy of the completed method."

"I can go back to sleep?"

The genius tilted his head and raised an eyebrow looking rather like his brother when John first met him. He might have thought John was trying to be funny again. A doctor does not joke when he needs sleep particularly before embarking on adventures around London with a crazy flatmate. In the end Sherlock walked off without giving an answer. Stupid sociopath.

Idiot soldier.

He wants to go back to sleep John does. Granted Sherlock does regret having awoken him so soon but once he had he expected the man to help. He did, somewhat, but that's not the point. First the morning with all his questions and now he wanted to sleep. He let go of that problem to redirect his mind toward cracking the next code. It was a bit more challenging than the last and in fact if he hadn't seen the redecoration of Mycroft's study he wouldn't have cracked it at all. Simple that was the key. A simple room with only what was necessary. A quiet room where he could simply focus on thinking. The password was Jedi. Strange to think that the Holmes would take interest in such fiction but as Mycroft was fond of saying 'All information is essential when utilized' so naturally he found a group who promoted no emotion a model to learn from. To everyone else the series was entertaining to the Holmes brothers it was a study of Human behavior and proof that emotion only got you into trouble.

Once Sherlock got through the password blocking him from the documents he searched for Mycroft's observation method. It was labeled as 'The Five Types' but before he could even finish the first paragraph Mrs. Hudson interrupted his work.

"Sherlock there you are."

"Working."

"Yes, dear I see that. I just wanted to tell you that Detective Lestrade is here to see you." She left downstairs muttering something that sounded like 'poor boy.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was hardly a boy and he hated being pitied worse than he hated ignorant people like Donovan. "Lestrade." He invited ushering the man in.

"Hey Sherlock. I know it's probably not the best time but I got something you might wanna take a look at."

"Show me."

Lestrade brought out an envelope which he quickly undid and handed the contents over to Sherlock. "We were investigating a kidnapping."

"The Chief Inspector's daughter."

Nothing is ever a secret around the Holmes. At least he wasn't as bad as his brother. Lestrade winced. Shouldn't have gone there he thought shaking his head. "Yeah we found the girl but the ones that took her disappeared by the time we arrived. They did leave someone else though. One of theirs, nothing special, he was a small time thug. Busted him a couple times for break-ins. Anyway he had these pictures in his coat pocket. One of them's your brother. The others are government officials some important and some well I never heard of 'em 'fore I saw those pictures."

"They're important to someone but what do they have to do with Mycroft?"

"I haven't got a clue."

"Nothing new there."

"I'm trying to help Sherlock because I know this is a bad time for you."

"Why do people keep saying that? I am fine. Completely fine. Normal."

"Clearly."

"That's my word."

"You can't own a word."

"I use it better."

"You win. What do these pictures mean?"

"Pictures of various people all in government with the dates and locations on the back. I'd say their target marks."

"Target Marks."

"Professional assassins often use them. Their employers provide them with a photograph inscribed with a specific date and location where they can find their target. The method of killing is normally left up to the assassins."

"Why would professional assassins work with a common thug?"

"Good you finally learned how to ask proper questions."

"Seriously Sherlock are you trying to push me over the edge?"

"Actually I was complimenting you."

Largest shock Lestrade ever received. "I . . . Wha . . ."

"Should I call for John?"

"N-No. Are you alright?"

"I said I was."

"You did. I heard you I just . . ."

"Honestly Lestrade you were making progress. Perhaps it would be better if I continued insulting you?"

"No! No. I'm not used to compliment is all, from you I mean. I prefer it though."

Stumbling and stuttering from a compliment. What could be made of that? The Detective Inspector did seem troubled whenever he questioned or insulted him of course that was in front of others. That was the expected response so naturally the opposite cause should yield the opposite result. Why did people have to be confusing? "I'll remember that."

"Good."

Was that pride? Why would he be proud? "Do you know precisely how the man was involved in the kidnapping?"

"I only know he picked up the ransom demand. We chased him from there to the hideout where we found him dead on the scene and the girl unconscious but otherwise unharmed."

"Sounds like your man was used and wasted by his new friends."

"Maybe. No way to be sure."

"It's the most likely explanation. If they are professionals and involved with what happened with Mycroft they could hardly afford to be 'd need someone who knew the area and wouldn't matter if he fell. But why would they risk a kidnapping when they had a job? Unless it's part of the job."

"How's that?"

"I need to speak with the girl."


	8. Chapter 8

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not moving until he leaves. The great detective can handle a while on his own. Bam. BAM!

DAMN IT SHERLOCK!

John threw the covers back and responded, "WHAT?"

Click. Stupid lock pick. "Sorry about the wake John but we're going to need you."

"What's going on, Lestrade?"

"A case and Sherlock wants to speak with the victim. She's only thirteen."

"Thirteen? What's going on?"

"Chief Inspector Andrew's daughter was kidnapped, it's not important. They found a man dead when they found her and he might have been working with the people that switched Mycroft's pills. I need to speak with the girl."

"She saw them?"

Lestrade chose to interrupt at that moment preventing Sherlock from saying anything that would effect the recent change of view he'd gained minutes ago. "She was drugged and went in and out of consciousness."

"Then why are we going?"

"Because she was conscious some of the time and I need to know what she heard and saw during that time. Now hurry up and get moving; I'll meet you downstairs."

"Are we sure it's a good idea to let him near a victim?"

"That's why both of us are going to be there."

Understandable. Sherlock's a liability on his regular days but there's a good chance he might push his limit more than usual with everything going on inside him. Sherlock might hold back his emotions but they are there and if there's one thing you learn from the army it's that everyone has a breaking point. "Try to keep him calm. I'll be down in five minutes."

Waiting is the worst. Why do people take so long to get ready. It doesn't take that long and Lestrade only has to walk downstairs. Here he is but no John. . . "Is he coming?"

"He's just pulling a coat and shoes on."

"He shouldn't have gone to bed in the first place."

"Any working theories?"

"One. There's a list of suspects to pick from. Mycroft saw this coming ahead of time and set up a plan."

"Anyone on the list look better than the rest? I could pull backgrounds."

"A former C.I.A. Director, a democratic party leader, and a U.N. ambassador."

"That's above my pay grade."

"We're dealing with Mycroft's enemies a background wouldn't do much good. These people tend to hide most of their real business."

"That leaves us where?"

"Tracking down the others involved in the kidnapping for a start."

"What if the girl can't tell us anything?" John asked as he entered the room absently tugging his sleeves a little ways past his wrists.

"We work it out some other way." Sherlock answered. "Ready to leave?"

"Yes we are. We can all take my car." Lestrade offered.

"Works for me." John said.

Thinking about it most people would not approve of two grown men rushing down the stairs to decide who gets passenger seat. Fortunately dealing with the childlike behavior of Sherlock Holmes was something Detective Inspector Lestrade had adapted to. He just didn't count on it rubbing off on John Watson. When John first came it was great having someone to help out that Sherlock would actually listen rather than argue like he did with Mycroft. Since his return however the two were more like troubling twins that played off eachother's reactions. It wasn't enough that he'd had to have all his past cases evaluated after Sherlock's death. Now there is ongoing discourse between the teams known to Scotland Yard as Donovan-Anderson and Holmes-Watson. Recently the fun for everyone at the station has been placing bets on the next encounter as well as what Sherlock's going to dish out to the opposing pair.

"Sherlock get in back and let John take the passenger seat."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's my car, I said so, and because if you don't you aren't getting near the girl."

"Fine."

Getting between Sherlock and anything was a dangerous risk but his mind is far too divided to do anything about it. Grudgingly sliding into the backseat a noticeable tearing sound came out the window. A quick look inside revealed a switchblade dug into the back interior. Special orders never come cheap but he hadn't counted on ever having Sherlock in his car. Hopefully he doesn't cut down to the-SKREEEK.

"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing back there?" John shouted.

"It would appear I found the jack."

The jack located under the back seats meaning new ones will have to be order along with another jack no doubt. And he's staring at it through the hole he's carved out. Sherlock on an average day is a pain Sherlock without the threat of losing Big Brother looming is a child whose parents left him home alone. Eager to cause trouble without fear of punishment.

If Mycroft doesn't wake up soon and sort out his brother it's a certainty that someone else is going to. Tearing through Lestrade's back seat because he couldn't sit in the front was really not good for things right now. Good thing Lestrade is being understanding at the moment but how long that will last you can only wonder. He's been different since he came back but this latest bout of cracking is a worry for all of us and not just for his sake. Half the time he's close to being punched the other half of the time he's just being told off-a lot. Pulling up to the girl's house is setting the nerves on edge. How exactly do you explain to a thirteen year old's parents, one of whom happens to be the Chief Inspector that a mad detective loosely associated with Scotland Yard wants to question a child whose only been back home a day after being kidnapped and held for a four days by a gang of criminals? Answer. Let the Detective Inspector do the talking and pray Sherlock Holmes behaves like a normal, empathetic person for once.

If only.

Ringing the doorbell and asking to talk with the girl. As if any parents are really going to do that. This was a stupid idea. Only Scotland Yard would be foolish enough to send the girl home without at least an attempt to learn what she knows. No they're just glad she's alive so her _Daddy_, their boss, doesn't get cross with them. No wonder they always need help. What on earth could they have been thinking? So much for the early comment about Lestrade. It would appear he has not come as far as I would have liked by this point. Small matter for now. Should probably apologize about the seat. It wasn't the best thing I could have done but John's reaction was a little over the top. That being shouting and then remaining silent the rest of the ride over. What's with everyone lately? More importantly why isn't anyone answering the bloody door? If there's a bell ringing it usually means someone's at the door and you should answer it. Not that I do. That's what John does or Mrs. Hudson. More Mrs. Hudson than John but I have to answer when they're both gone. Waiting is boring. Boring and I only have three days left.

"Just knock on the door already."

"Sherlock calm down and please try to remember this man is my Boss."

"He's taking too long."

"Patience is a virtue."

"I hate that saying. Whoever first said that should be shot."

And cue the door opening by the Chief Inspector who was not happy.

"Lestrade. What's this about?"

"Goodmorning Sir. I'm sorry about the intrusion but could we talk to your daughter?"


	9. Chapter 9

From all appearances Chief Inspector Andrew was not in a mood to be disturbed. Had it been up to Lestrade he would have vacated the premises and buried himself under paperwork back at the office. The man in charge at the moment however was a self-proclaimed sociopath. Seeing the inspector praying under his breath was a new one but they'd never had to face his boss. Unless you count Mycroft he's everyone's boss. His prayers of a desperate man must be important upstairs because the man they knew as Sherlock Holmes suddenly vanished to be replaced by another they'd never met.

"Mr. Andrew is it?"

"Whatever you're doing here forget it. I have enough trouble to deal with at the moment without some amateur detective snooping around for God knows what reason."

The door came forward and would have been closed in their face if they weren't in the company of a clever man. Sherlock reached a foot out holding the door open against the Inspector's wishes and against all past experience had prepared us for did something unimaginable. He comforted a troubled man. "Mr. Andrew you are greatly concerned for your daughter right now and that's understandable. I mean two of the men responsible weren't caught and I understand that you haven't a clue as to why this occurred to begin with. I don't intend any trouble, Sir honestly I'd like to help you in finding them."

"What and be a great hero again, is that it?"

"No. In fact I'd rather if no one know of my involvement. If you will allow me to be involved that is."

Lestrade was clearly stunned silent and as for John he couldn't comprehend the possibility. Sherlock was not only being sympathetic but asking permission to help. He had taken considerable steps in the past few days since but this was way beyond what either man had ever expected or even hoped for. The Chief Inspector wasn't quite convinced himself still watching Sherlock for signs of deceit. "My family is the most important thing in my life, Mr. Holmes and I do all I can to protect them. But right now my little girl is hurt and I can't even explain why."

"I think I can."

Lestrade let go of his surprise and found his voice again. "He means we will find out for you, Sir. We just need to speak to your daughter for a few minutes. It's possible she knows more than she realizes. If we could just have a moment."

Mr. Andrew opened the door all the way and ushered them (or rather Sherlock) inside his home. The inside wasn't large but you could see the feminine touch of design in each area all different purposes but following into eachother evenly. We were led through a sitting and living room to the back of the house where the two children's bedrooms were.

The second into the hall was the girl, Amelia's room. Her mother was sitting by her side stroking her hair when they crowed in behind her husband. The look on her face was one every mother had. The last time John saw it was on the face of his mother the first time he came home from school covered in cuts and bruises. It was pure dread at the thought of their children finally seeing the dangers in their world. That time when children stopped being children.

"Delia these men-"

"They need to speak with her; I won't leave her." She answered, "Please come in but not too close. She's still not feeling quite herself."

"That's alright," Sherlock assured her taking the lead again, "We won't be long just a few questions."

"Do I have to?" Amelia pleaded to Father.

He sat down in the chair positioned next to the bed, probably set there for him to watch her at night. Taking her right hand he squeezed it between his own forgetting for a time that the others were still in the room. A loving Father. How odd to see from that imposing man they'd met at the door. "The men that took you are still out there and without your answers these men won't be able to find them. What do I say about answering questions?"

"Be honest and fair and you'll always be set right."

"That's my Amy."

The little girl smiled at her Father's words finding courage in something familiar and normal. Perhaps the first normal she's felt since this began. "What do you want to know?"

Sherlock turned to Lestrade asking permission again and spoke only after a nod from Lestrade. "We know you were in and out of consciousness with the . . . the drugs but when you first came out of it you would have regained your feeling first. Do you remember being moved around or did you stay in one place?"

"They moved me once when I first got there but after that I stayed in one place."

"What was wrong with where you were?"

"One of the men said that room was for someone else and I had to be put in the one further back."

"You remember what the men said?"

"Some, not much." She mumbled.

"Do you know who that someone else was? Anything we can get will help."

"No but they were laughing about him."

"How do you know it was a him?"

"They said I bet he's never seen the other side of holding."

"Holding?"

"The place she was held was an old station we closed five years ago just after I got transferred."

"Good. That's very good Amy just one more question. Did you hear any names?"

"Not a real name but I think there was a nickname. I remember hearing one of them calling the other two Remus and Romulus. Does that help?"

Sherlock's face lit up the usual way it did when he'd found something. "That's perfect. Exactly what I needed to hear. Amelia Andrew thank you for being brilliant but if you'll excuse me I have to set to work now."

"Mr. Holmes."

"Yes?"

"You will catch them, won't you? I mean they won't . . . come back?"

"Amy if there is one thing you can be sure of right now it's that none of those men will ever come near you again. John, Lestrade time to go."

That was what the girl needed to hear. Gone was the look of uncertain fear replaced by a smile as she leaned back into her mother's arms. Sherlock was already out and awaiting them while Lestrade was held back at the front doorway. His Boss stood with his imposing and muscular frame standing over the Detective Inspector. "Lestrade I want the truth. Can he really do this?"

"I know he seems a bit much, Sir and especially after how he started but believe me he can help."

Lestrade might have missed it but sitting in the car Sherlock was close to the window listening. Of course the minute the Inspector turned he moved into the middle out of view. It seemed he was going to keep silent until we started to pull away.

"Talked to the victim. Crime Scene next?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes and thank you."

He glanced back into the mirror not missing the two in the front exchanging a glance. Nearly losing Mycroft was creating a new Sherlock and this neither the good Doctor nor the Detective Inspector would be heard complaining about. People otherwise known as Greg Lestrade and John Watson were the type that all too often thought of their world in simple terms. There was always good and evil; heroes to save the day and villains to vanquish. For people like them it had to be this way. They quite frankly wouldn't know what to do in the face of reality as it is. Which is why the they can't see the clues so clearly in front of them. It's there to see but they don't want to acknowledge what they are uncomfortable even thinking about. Noticed they didn't ask what it was that was so brilliant about the girl's responses. It might be a stretch in this instant but the majority of time they don't know the answers because they don't want to believe the answers. Human beings often delude themselves. They prefer to live in ignorance and allow others to decide their life for them. No wonder Mycroft got to the top so easily. Even now my keeper and my blogger have deluded themselves in thinking that some emotional life changing alteration is taking place in me. They don't understand that some people aren't designed to react and think like them. I accepted this early on but most it seems do not.

With the arrival of Lestrade earlier there hadn't been time to read through Mycroft's method but luckily he had imported them to his phone. Suppose there was something good about John taking so long. The method is quite nicely researched and written in plain terms. There are five types but people are normally of combinations with the first type determining their physical appearance and the second dominating but not completing their behavioral traits. A good basis for judging people when you need to know exactly what to say. In other words Mycroft's bread and butter for dealing with diplomats. Explains his ability to charm practically everyone he meets into trusting him. Everyone but John that is. Good thing he's naturally suspicious.


	10. Chapter 10

Crime scenes to anyone else are work to a Holmes they are one of the best places to observe and not just for studying crimes. It's the way people react to such a place or the way they choose to distract themselves like for example Donovan.

"Lestrade we already found the girl. Why'd you bring freak?"

"Don't worry, Sally just tying up loose ends. Scotland Yard can have the credit."

Paying little mind to Donovan taunting today Sherlock pushed right past the Sergeant who wasn't exactly the difficult person she normally was with him around. Lestrade suppose a certain amount of confidence in their work was pushed aside whenever they had to depend on Sherlock's knowledge over their own. God knows he had to let a large part of his ego go just to ask for help of the only Consulting Detective and add some humility anytime he's in one of his arrogant moods. A nod told John to follow after him inside while he had a talk with his people again. "All of you come over here. Look I know you don't like involving Sherlock in our business but this is a different situation. Turns out the other two men involved in this kidnapping are connected to something bigger and it's personal for him. In other words now would not be a good time to goad him into a confrontation and any of you that do will deal with the consequences on your own."

"How's it personal?" the question was asked by one of the newer girls who'd started only months before Sherlock's 'death.' You could say she never really had the chance to get an idea of him for herself before this which for her might be a good thing. Still it wouldn't do to tell them too much about his current situation.

"They're involved in the attempted murder of his brother."

"He has a brother?" This a simple question from Donovan was enough to stir mass conversation among the lot of them. He couldn't exactly blame them as everyone who knows Sherlock knows he is a hard concept to grasp by himself. To realize then that there's another walking around just like him let alone consider the notion that this second person might be even more advanced than Sherlock. The Holmes brothers were a concept no one in this world was ready to face. But ready or not the world had to adjust to them because they certainly were not going to accommodate anyone when they didn't have to. "An older brother and with the circumstances right now it would be best for everyone to do your very best not to do anything which might provoke him."

Mostly stunned nods and a few 'yes sir' but at least they're listening. I hope.

Lestrade's hard tone was easily recognizable as it traveled up from the steps outside. Not that the gesture isn't appreciated but Sherlock prefers his personal affairs to be shared at his discretion. John got the long talk about it after he began his blog and his flatmate had no problem criticizing him for the mistakes in relaying the information he is permitted to share. Honestly is it too much to ask that he not make everything about their life into some romanticized hero legend written in the form of gossip column? He deserve every harsh thought reflected his way. Some people might believe the better friend tells you what you want to hear but if that were the case he'd never improve and he needs to.

"Lestrade, nice of you to join us. Troops all set straight on my circumstances?"

"I'm sorry. I should have asked first."

"You were just trying to help. Can't be blamed you're only Human."

"Was that an insult?" Lestrade whispered to John.

"A critique."

"So yes." John answered.

What is that? Irritation? Irritation in John's voice. That wasn't there a moment ago. Why's it there now? Focus. Back to examining the floor. It's odd. Something's was spread on the floor and cleaned up.

The glow in the left hand pocket. His phone But who's calling? Not important now.

Tightening jaw line. Clenching his teeth. No. Stop, the floor. There was something here. Some sort of powder or sand spread on the tile.

Another glow. A fluxuation of the light. Not calling but a text. Blinking. Another text. He's really not happy about this.

"What?" John asked.

"What?"

"You keeping looking at me. What did I do?"

When he looked at the face. Too long then. Eye contact is always tricking to get it right. "Who's texting and why does it bother you?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It's making you irritable."

"No it's not!"

Poor job John. Not even convincing to Lestrade who's puzzled to say the least. Mycroft has two and half days to live and John's distracted with a personal problem. Have to fix that. "Harry?"

"No. Ellie."

"Ellie? I thought you were dating Caroline." Lestrade could have been a disapproving Uncle. Men tend to get like that after being cheated on. Women, well they tend to either scream or cheat themselves. Difficult understanding these types. They get nothing done and then both of them are wasting their time ignoring any children or other obligations they might have. Not really productive. God this Mycroft stuff needs to be finished. Wait which one was Caroline? For that matter when has he been dating? Could have sworn he was home. Of course might have been talking to the air after he left. That happens. Sometimes.

"Carrie moved to France."

"That's too bad. She was nice."

She was nice? "Lestrade, you met her?"

"Yeah, she and John were at the pub, what, couple months back, wasn't it?"

"When we were celebrating our four month anniversary. She told me she was leaving the next week."

"That's a shame. So how'd you meet Ellie, was it?"

Damn Mycroft. Damn John and Lestrade as well. Should have known better than to ask John about anything that could possibly be related to one of his _relationships. _If you can even call them that. That four months was his longest yet and each new one is worse than the last. Or stupider than the last. Yes, that's more to the point. A few back one of them even commented on how cute she thought the honey jar she bought John was. She then proceeded to explain that it was for honey. Because _clearly _having the word 'honey' printed on the front didn't establish that. It was a pointless gesture anyway considering John's allergic to honey. "Allergies."

"Sorry? What are you saying?" John asked.

"There was a powdery substance spread on the floor tiles. A light yellow tint with a very familiar scent. It's the Narcissus Flower ground into a fine powder."

"What does that have to do with allergies?"

"Mycroft is allergic to it."

"What does it do?"

"At first nothing but if he was exposed to it for more than two hours especially if he inhaled any it would cause his skin to peel."

"You mean like when dead skin dries out or when it burns and curls back?" John and Sherlock turned to Lestrade with surprise. "Like you haven't said worse."

"He's got a point."

"Maybe but that's Sherlock you're you." John said.

Lestrade was embarrassed but there was a certain amount of pride in him recognizing the difference. Of course telling him after the last compliment was out of the question. He's not the best on his best days we hardly need him worsened by overconfidence from what should be a simple nice job. "Can the two of you focus. This proves they were planning on bringing him here."

"They didn't so why does it matter?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Obviously not Sherlock."

"It should be."

"Well it isn't."

"Do you two need a moment?" I injected in earning a glaring stare from John and a puzzled look from Sherlock who was lost as usual on the hidden meaning. It might be a little juvenile to pick on them still it was far too amusing messing with John knowing how much it got to him. He thinks more about Sherlock's public image then the Consulting Detective does. "What's supposed to be obvious this time?"

"They kidnapped the girl to force Mycroft's hand."

"Force his hand?" The words were repeated slowly and deftly.

John to the left was trying and failing to grasp a possible line that connected the dots. His efforts failed and rather against his credit he kept trying to wrap his mind around it. Sherlock for his part was uncharacteristically patient as he waited in the vain hope John understood. This time however waiting like John's trying to understand was the wrong approach. After a long dead pause in which the only sounds were from the gossiping Scotland Yarders out front Lestrade spoke up.

"Uh, John maybe we ought to let this one go over our head."

John nodded his assent to which Sherlock gave an eye roll and in the opinion of this detective an over exaggerated sigh.

"I guess that means I have to explain." Sherlock stood center of the floor giving one last sweep over the yellow dust, "Mycroft's allergic to the yellow powder on the floor which means they intended to bring him here. The coma was an accident. They wanted to knock him out and put him in a coma instead. But that's not all because the powder would have only pealed his skin not kill him. It would have left him in a burning pain though. Which means the powder was intended as a means of torture. If they wanted to torture Mycroft then they want something from him and whatever it was resorting to this means they couldn't get it through negotiations. They needed another way to convince Mycroft to give them what they want and what's the number one way to get to Mycroft?"

"Umm , wouldn't that be, well, you?" His face might have been faced the other way but we could still tell the idea didn't strike him well. His body tensed up like it does right about the time he decides to start shooting off his mouth at Anderson.

Sure enough he about faced from his view of the window and had more than a little to say. "Can you two drop the pity? If you're going to say something then out with it and quit being sorry for it. Got it?"

"Otherwise known as playing Holmes."

The two of them broke into laughter. How they could shift so easily from serious to fun left Lestrade to marvel at the pair of them. All of the odd things that have come from knowing Sherlock and somehow the existence of their friendship was the strangest. There were times he'd swear John was ready to take off for good but for some reason the guy just went right back to Baker Street. No idea what madness the man had in his head but as it keeps Sherlock from getting into too much trouble it seems the better course to leave him in the fog as long as possible. That thought could certainly be seen as bad. Must be that _exposure risk _Mycroft had told him about. "How do you make Mycroft negotiate?"

"Hmm? Right. Mycroft has one big weakness and that's his public image or lack thereof."

"Come again?"

"The only way for Mycroft to hold his influence is if the general public doesn't know about him. Didn't you notice that even in the biography Moriarty manufactured it never mentioned a brother."

"I didn't think about that." John admitted.

"Of course you didn't. Why would you, you already knew. What's important is figuring out what the person behind this needed from Mycroft."


	11. Chapter 11

"Sherlock do you actually know where we're going?"

Five left, two rights, and an hour in a cab plus a trek through the forest. Surprising it took him this long to speak up. "I got coordinates sent to my phone."

"Anthea?"

"She's in charge whenever Mycroft can't be."

John ducked quick, narrowly missing getting hit by a branch. "I thought they'd have some other government suit to take over."

"Mycroft's business operates outside of the government like I work outside the law."

"So he's a political consultant."

"Advisor and Anthea's his secretary."

"I thought he had four secretaries."

"Mycroft has three assistants and one secretary."  
"Aren't they the same thing?"

"The assistants handle small things like paper work and errand runs. Basically what you'd expect when you think of an assistant. Secretaries although they can be assistants in other offices in Mycroft's work it's more like a state secretary."

"Which is?"

"A trusted officer of the business charged with management that requires leading teams of their own, arranging meetings, and protecting the image of the business."  
"Your brother trusts her over everyone else. How did she qualify for that?"

"Neither of them will tell me but he hired her the day of her graduation."

"Must have had a list of accomplishments."

"To impress my brother it had to be one event. Whatever it was made both of their careers. Stop here."

They came to a halt where the woods began. Sherlock's eyes were looking ahead scanning the building and perimeter. John was looking ahead too but he wasn't searching for possible dangers he was in awe of the two story building that expanded before them for a mile each way and from the height of each story he was thought the inside must have high ceilings-probably painted with murals and surrounded by crown moldings.

"The bad guys are staying at a mansion." He shook his head disbelieving as he continued imagining the inside of such a magnificent building.

"And we're waiting out here. Find a seat."

John lost focus of the room his imagining to look at Sherlock. "We're just going to watch them?"

Sherlock perches himself on a tree root that keeps him just above the line of bushes but covered from view by a low hanging branch. There's the answer. John sighs and looked around for a comfortable spot to sit. Hopes this won't be like the last case. It's difficult moving after five hours of crouching between a boundary wall and a large generator. Not to mention his ears could have done without the loud whirring coming from the metal box.

"Did you figure out who it is then? Who was behind it?"

"Nearly."

"Nearly?"

"The man behind this is far away but our missing kidnappers will be here."

"So we get to their boss through them, yeah?"

"Something like that."

"Who are they then?"

"Remus and Romulus."  
"Guessing it's not their real names."

"No. In fact they're not even related. They were named for their involvement in the founding of the Empire."

"Which is?"

"An organization that establishes loose based rules of trust between the professional criminals of the world.

"A criminals union?"

"It works effectively. Sometimes they even pass on jobs if they decide they don't want a hand in the business they're offered. Remus and Romulus are the best professionals money can buy. Jim used them more than once for his work abroad. They arranged the Black Lotus' transport to England and a few other countries. There were rumors that they were offered a mark in the Vatican and the only reason they turned it down was because Remus had personal business."

"The Vatican?"

"They have no qualms about who they go after or what they're hired for as long as the pay satisfies them or if Romulus takes an interest. He's the dominant of the two. They've even been known to hire out for jobs themselves just to stir up trouble for the new police chiefs or politicians that get too loud."

The Detective went through the facts all gathered from his two years away. He was different John realized. He wasn't snatching up clues as he ran across London computing the facts as he went along and jumping head first into danger. He might appear to be doing that but inside his mind he was thinking about his moves. Sherlock Holmes wasn't the man taking chances for a thrill anymore he had learned the mistake of that kind of game. John suddenly found himself a little sad. Not to say he wasn't happy about Sherlock being more careful. He would be glad to see his friend die of old age—preferably after him. He just couldn't help feeling like something was missing. He didn't know what because he basically did the same things he had before. He still got bored, he did his experiments that were still to be found in the kitchen and around the flat, and he still called John his only friend. There were times when he seemed like nothing had changed. Then there were the times where John would come home to find Sherlock had cleaned the flat and while John had no problem with the battle against the Donovan-Anderson team he had to admit that the insults and backhanded comments had been too close to the line. There'd been many smaller incidents since he came back too. He didn't know what to do about it or if he could do anything. He just knew his best friend had changed and he didn't think all of the changes were so good in the long run. Before John could decide whether to pose a question about it a car pulled up to the gate.

"Four door station wagon." Sherlock muttered.

"In this place?"

"I think it's time to go inside."

"Sherlock a place like this has got to have guards."

"We're a good ways from the city and the nearest neighbor is fifteen miles away. The security will rely mainly on cameras and motion sensor alarms."

"Still doesn't answer how we're getting past it?"

"Back door."

"Back door?"

"Windy night, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Drawn out and uncertain. The word definitely conveyed the unease that was building up inside John Watson. Not like Sherlock to give random comments but then nothing about him was ever really random. No the more random it seemed the closer to his real mind it was. They moved around the side of the house where the trees were closer to the house.

"Wait here." Sherlock ordered.

John kept low and back against the tree trunk watching as his friend disappeared up into the higher branches of the trees. The next thing John saw wasn't Sherlock but a branch moving seemingly by itself smacking against the window. He took a step back and crouched down as someone approached the window to investigate. A man about John's height but wider unlocked the latch holding the two halves of the window shut and pushed the right side open to peer out. He leaned out the window examining the line of trees and looking down at the bushes surrounding the house borders. As the wind came again the branch too came at the window exactly as it had before except this time rather than glass it collided with the man's face sending him flying backwards.

Sherlock reappeared swinging out of the tree and into the open window. From the inside he gestured for John to come in. Without a doubt he once more followed after the detective who standing inside was impatient as John climbed a little too slowly through the window.

"We need to find evidence."

"Where do we start?"

"Two floors. You take this one I'll head upstairs." John grabbed his arm as he tried to leave.

"What kind of evidence am I looking for?"

"Remus has a weakness for trophies. The police report said when they found girl she was missing a hair ribbon. Anthea said that Mycroft was missing a tie clip. Most of these rooms will probably be storage or gathering areas. The items would be kept in a study or hidden in the billiard room if they have one."

"Billiard room?"

"Remus and Romulus play it competitively. Their underground tournaments are famous in the East Coast States."

"If these guys are so good, how come they left the dust spread on the floor?"

"Old building, ceiling cracking, they probably assumed that Scotland Yard would ignore dust on the floor. Correctly I might add."

"Just don't chase anyone without telling me. There's miles of woods and we don't know how many people they have here."

"I'll text you."


	12. Chapter 12

It was probably useless having John check downstairs but he was still getting text from _Ellie_ on the way over and there wasn't any doubt that he'd want to send an answer. Despite what some may think a Sociopath can understand Human emotions . . . to some extent anyway. New variables learned with continued association with a subject help. The subject or rather subjects currently capturing this Sociopath's attention were the twins Remus and Romulus. There was something not making sense here. These were criminal Lords who having the ability to choose their jobs by being accountable to nothing but their own conscious (however far that may extend as a factor in decisions) chose to accept a job to kill Mycroft Holmes. The media that Moriarty brought to his duel with Sherlock had shown to the public the challenge of taking him out. In the not public channels the reality of all the players involved and the more precise circumstances of Sherlock's subsequent victory were not known but certainly anyone in the know of the players could have made an experienced guess making not only Sherlock a challenge to take out but Mycroft as well. He could see Remus jumping at such a chance but Romulus was usually more cautious.

So why leave the dust? Why not kill the girl when they killed their third man? More importantly why were they staying here? Their part of the job was finished yet here they were holed up in this mansion in the forest with what seems like all their favorite comforts. But driving a station wagon? Clever was good and these guys were but these facts didn't quite add up into a pattern-certainly not the usual pattern he'd seen in their past work. It had to be something to do with their current employer if only he could figure out who that was. He'd finished Mycroft's analysis but he couldn't see how it connected to any of the suspects.

CRASH! His body reacted before his mind realized the situation and next he knew he was in the doorway of a bedroom and on the other end with their backs to him was the twins in the midst of the argument. He thought quick and slid behind a revolving panel that had large prints on each side. He stayed close to the corner panel pulling his coat tighter around him so it wasn't visble. "Go on, get up, and I want none of your crying."

"I never cried in my life."

"Just get up ya private school git."

"I was only there five months."

"Five months too long. Got you thinking your smarts worth more than mine and me the one with a full seven year tutelage from Master Charleston."

"Ha. Charleston the Hack."

"-And my teacher so just you mind what comes pouring out of that filth mouth of yours."

"Rich to call me filth! After killing your own godson."

"The little punk got squeamish. You want to leave a connection?"

"Course not. But a good beating woulda done the job. You didn't have to fill his head with bullets."

"It was two shots, clean, and I don't have to justify myself to you. You're the one that wanted to take this job even though I told you high profile meant putting your neck out. But you wanted a thrill and now look where we're standing. I had to kill my own kin and no I didn't have a choice. You met the kid he woulda turned rat soon as they collared him."

"I told you to quit watching those gangster flickers. It's getting to your head."

"Don't start that crap. I'm not the one that can resist taking a memory token or did you think I didn't notice the girl's missing ribbon. What'd you take from Mr. Suit?"

"That's my concern and unlike you I can take care of my problems quietly."

"Right like you took care of that brat your slut birth?"

"That's my kin. Now what're we gonna do about this mess? Rome'll roast our state-side contacts."

"We'll have to kill the mark."

"That wasn't the deal. We're supposed to get information on his case."

"He's in a hospital with security detail. If he wakes up he's going to point to Nix and next he'll be handing our photos to someone."

"This whole thing's a freakin' mess."

"Let's clean it up then. Cut the ties and snatch some files to satisfy the client."

"Survelliance on the security measures and surrounding buildings?"

"Yeah, get on it tonight. I'll scope the office and see what the temp boss has got on us."  
"How come you always get the nice views?"

"Because I'm the oldest and you got no chance with a looker like that anyway."

"You better not be thinking of talking to her."

"She don't know what I look like."

"That's what you said before we nearly got trapped by that freelance undercover."

"He didn't know what I looked like. His best description was my favorite hat."

"Your face was priceless when he slapped you with it."

Sherlock smirked remembering the incident. An almost perfect trap if only they didn't have friends with a helicopter. Lucky he was able to retrieve the information he needed from the Interpol agents who'd enlisted his help and he kept the hat. A grey cloth Stetson Palmdale. He'd actually considered wearing it today but thought better when his mind conjured an image of all the photos with the last hat he'd wore. Granted that this was much better looking and properly suited him.

"I remember well enough, Remus. Now shut your trap and get over to that hospital."

Remus went for the door but halted in the doorway and looked back, "Say I find an opening while I'm there do you want me to take the shot?"

"If you got a clean shot but check in with me first. I want the details."

"Yes Captain." Remus threw out a mocking salute and sloppily about faced. Romulus pushed him forward and pulled the door shut behind him. Sherlock heard a key go into the lock and then a click as it snapped in place. He came out from his hiding spot laughing to himself as he clicked off the top of a pen recorder. $20 child's toy but perfectly adequate for his needs. Mycroft had more expensive toys now anyway. He pocketed it and was going to bring out his phone when he heard shouting downstairs. He reached for the door and ran out to look over the banister.

"John."

Below him Dr. Watson was fighting off a group of staff and guards who were well paid if their size and fighting skill was anything to go by. He sized up each fighter and let his mind wander categorizing their fighting styles and the calculating the weaknesses. Unfortunately the calculations came up against him. Straight attack was not the way to deal with a large group of thugs.

Corrections a very large group of thugs. Even as he watched helplessly from his place of safety ten more of these hired men pushed their way through the door. If Sherlock admitted it to himself he would have to admit that John was holding his own extremely well against the onslaught of men. The javelin he liberated from a standing suit aided him quite nicely though surely he did not learn to use it so effectively in his standard weapons training. A question to save for later.

The potential danger came as an advantage in disguise because with the increase in population it seemed the fight had become confused and rows had broken out among the guards themselves who apparently were of two different groups determined by their fight styles. Among the chaos no one noticed an extra man weaving in between the punches and kicks and odd weapon pulled from the walls. He made his way to left edge of the center where John stood still fending off attacks. Defiantly going to have to question him later. He could avoid the pattern of the thugs' attacks but John's strikes continuously changed that pattern and apparently his focus diverted him from seeing Sherlock on the edge trying to catch his attention.

So close. He only needed a way to pull him out. Off to the right Sherlock identified groups of the two fractions in close proximity closing in on the main fight. Instantly he saw his moment.

He jumped for the banister of stairs above him and lept into the middle of them purposely knocking the butt end of a spear from one fraction into a man of the other ducking out of their immediate view. The result was the two sides halting their forward movement and turning into eachother's path. It was a domino effect after that drawing those from the main fight and then those at the fringes into the quarrel amongst the groups and taking all but a few from John's load.

With the slow of the battle pace John's focus widened and he at last caught sight of Sherlock's attempts to communicate with him. He read the signs clear and gave a nod of consent. Military motions developed for specialists in the Korean War another thing to add to the list of growing questions.

John aimed a purposely sloppy spear thrust toward an opponent in front of him creating an opening in the space left of him. Sherlock stepped in close and ordered John to drop the spear on his count.

"One. Two. Three."

John released the spear at the same time he was swinging it toward an oncoming attack sending it flying sideways into the man and knocking him backwards. The other three saw their opening and rushed on their prey. However Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are not prey that can be easily caught in a trap. They put up their fists and brought themselves back to back each taking one man from their end and then rounding into the third together. Seeing that John needed to catch his breath after the strenuous battle Sherlock signaled him to follow out back to the window they entered from.

They got as far as a yard past the bushes where they'd previously hidden before Dr. Watson's adrenaline rush gave out and he collapsed gasping against a tree holding his arms above his head. His best friend broke his pace as he heard the smack of John dropping back into the tree.

"John!"

The man grinned at the man's reaction. "Got-got you worried."

Sherlock let himself relax against a boulder for support. "We should be dead."

Both laughed although Watson's was between spots of coughing as he tried to slow his breathing back to normal. When they finally calmed down a sudden thought hit Sherlock and right away he got to his feet and started running again. John gave a weary sigh and hustled after him.

"Where are we running now?" he asked.

"Cab."

"Did you find something?"

"Attack. Hospital. Remus."


	13. Chapter 13

{Remus going to hosptal. Romlus to ofice. Need a car. SH}

Sherlock sent the text off and as he ran not caring about the misspelled words at the moment. Anthea was smart enough to figure it out. This was not the kind of running he had wanted when got in a cab to come here. He wanted the exhilarating, make him forget everything because we might just die if we're caught adrenaline rush. Wanted it; he needed it right now. Instead what he felt was heart racing panic that didn't give him an energy boost so he had to force himself to ignore the increasingly ache in his legs or burning in his lungs from the lack of air as he kept running trying to go faster but feeling every step like he was running in sand.

He finally reached the road they were dropped off at but didn't see a car in sight. He wanted to just keep running until they could find a cab but John was still somewhere behind him and he knew the man was far past his limits as it was. As was he. He forced himself to take a few breaths and slow his breathing but he didn't let himself drop because if he completely stopped right now he knew he wouldn't be able to move again. His phone went off and the ID showed ANTHEA. He took a few more breaths and slid the lock open.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Remus is headed to the hospital."

"I know. Where are you?" Concern. He usually liked her mothering him. Today was just not the day.

"Eight miles from the location you sent. The first main road."

"Were you seen?"

"Remus maybe. They didn't follow."

"Stay there. I'm sending Garner."

Anthea hung up presumably to order an army guards to the hospital. At least Sherlock hoped she was. He went to hit the power button and dropped his phone. As he picked it up he realized his hand was shaking. Not a good sign. In his peripheral he could see John come out of the trees. He slowed his pace as he saw that Sherlock had stopped running. The Detective snatched up the phone nearly losing his grip and shoved both hands in his coat pockets.

"Everything . . . all-alright?" John managed.

Not trusting his voice Sherlock nodded instead.

"What er we doin?" Shortening words. Trying to widen his eyes and blink to stay awake. Past exhausted. Very not good.

Not speaking again Sherlock gestured to the car pulling next to them. This time John just nodded and walked to back seat.

"You two look a wreck." Why do people feel the need to comment? If he didn't need the ride Sherlock would have avoided Garner. The man was irritating. Irritating and cheery. "Get into a tussle?"

Tussle? Cheesy westerns again. "Garner we're tired. Just drive."

"Where to?"

"Head to the hospital."

"Your law, Mini Boss."

John gave the nickname a head shake and slumped into the back seat half leaning on the door which he clumsily locked. Sherlock laid his head back and let his mind fall into work. Pulling everything together.

Rome Nix hired Remus and Romulus to get information from Mycroft about a case involving Nix.

The twins had other marks but it's still unclear if those are connected. Possibly others involved in the case. Maybe those against Nix.

The job went wrong though because Anthea found Mycroft before they could move him and even if they could snatch him now they had lost the girl. The kidnapping of the girl also went wrong. Romulus killed his godson who had the photos of the other marks on him and the girl escaped alive.

None of this connected to Mycroft's thesis for analysis. Nor did he know why his brother had been made a mark in the first place. Sherlock wanted to be at the hospital because if those MI (Minion idiots) couldn't do their regular job of watching him at Baker Street, how could he expect them to protect his Brother Remus-especially after seeing those medical records.

But as much as he wanted to be there he couldn't ignore the facts. Which all confirmed that where he wanted to be was not where he needed to be.

"Garner turn left."

"The hospital is a right turn."

"I know that. We aren't going to hospital."

"What?" John jumped awake. "But the attack?"

The back seat passengers received a jolt forward as their driver made a sharp pull and stop to the curb. "What attack? Why wasn't I told? Who's the players?"

"GARNER SHUT UP!"

"Mr. Holmes, with all due respect-"

"Main Office. Get this car moving." Plain and flat but with a clear threat of what disobedience would bring. John recognized the tactic. Cold and unquestionably Holmes. How could people be so different and yet the same? It made John wonder which side of them was real, the emotion that seemed to slip through or the cold core that seemed to be constant.

Garner put them in drive and got back on the road. "Mr. Holmes?"

"Mr. Holmes is your boss. I'm only his kin so let's just stay with Sherlock."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Can I know what's happening?"

"There's a man headed to the hospital to attack your Mr. Holmes. But Anthea is handling that situation we have another to deal with. A second man is headed to the office to obtain files on an open case."

"Does that we include me?"

Knew that was coming. Garner's daily work consisted mostly of chauffeuring the Swiss ambassadors and reporting on their visitors and movements. Sounds important but actually it's the second to last rung on the ladder. Think of a gang with Mycroft being the leader and now picture the guy who serves him his lunch. Garner is friend of that guy who normally just fetches the ingredients for the chef and considers himself lucky when he can fill in for the guy serving the lunch.

If John knew the situation or if Sherlock could process his emotions normally they might have felt bad for the guy. It wasn't that he didn't have the skills. He was trained in combat and surveillance as well as having considerable hacking talents learned from a paranoid conspirists professor. His personality was the thing that ruined him. Little fact you might not think of: a strong, friendly personality is great for a salesman but damaging for a man whose career requires he not be in places he shouldn't be and not be remembered once he's gone.

At the present he was lucky because Mycroft has ordered all the codes and ID passes changed sometime back and he hadn't permitted his brother access to either nor did Sherlock have the time to find a bypass to the new security measures. Which meant that the lowly agent driving him was his only way in.

"For tonight Garner . . . it does."

"Ace! Thank you, Sir, er, Sherlock." Beaming and straightening up to square his shoulders.

Good day to be him but mind you Sherlock had it firm in his mind that should this man do anything that could jeopardize this case the punishment would be crippling to his small life that at the least would find him clinging desperately to that last rung. "Don't fail me."

"I won't. Anything I can do. Glad to be in service."

"You sure?" John mouth silently and pointing.

Sherlock typed the response on his phone and showed John the screen. {He has the security codes.}


End file.
